It’s that time of year, where we all go drop a wad on clothes for the kids and start moving their bedtimes back. Already, almost all of my friends have had their first-day-of-school experience. Our school doesn’t begin until the 30th, which is really freaking annoying, but the school is so special that they can get away with that crap. Really! They could hire ninjas to teach the children and I’d be all, “Okay! Sounds good!” The school is that good. “I’m sure those ninjas are really special ninjas!”
The point here is, school is starting. And I’m stoked. I’m not just stoked, I’m giddy. I have a list! Of things I’m going to do! Alone! Here are some:
Lay on the floor in the living room.
Lay on the floor in the bedroom.
Lay in bed.
Eat peas in the pod without sharing.
Sit in silence.
(I’m not really going to do that. Or am I? No one will ever know!)
Get rid of my muffin top.
Lay down some more, which won’t do much for my muffin top, so I suppose that after I lay down a bit, I will exercise.
Are you sensing a theme?
I think I may be a horrible mother. Or at least, not the kind of mother that wallows in sentimentality, which, in the world of mothers, seems to be another way of saying that I may be a horrible mother. BOTH of my children will be in school this year. BOTH. And I am not in the least bit sad about it.
You know what that means? It means so many things! It mostly means that I have to explain to Luca’s teacher that he has a really unusually large interest in girls. So large, in fact, that in karate, he gets in trouble with Sensei for flirting. He’s three. Luca, not the Sensei. He’s three and he is quite visibly flirting with an older girl in class. So visible, that a friend who has a son in Karate with us leaned over to me this week and said, “Oh, my god! I think he’s checking out her butt!”. He’s three. That night, when we got home from class I asked Luca, “What do you like about girls?” To which he replied:
“Well, I like girls that are pretty. And I like girls that have boobs.”
So. Um. I think I may need to mention this at our parent-teacher conference. Which is going to be awkward. That and the nose picking. Oh, and the eating of what is picked from the nose. I believe it is my duty to warn the people.
Then there is Rowan, who is a pro at the whole school thing. However, over the summer he seems to have developed a really large oral fixation. He needs to be told on a regular (and really annoying) basis to stop licking me. And he does this open-mouth kiss thing all over me that is really innocent but borderline weird. So there’s that. I actually have to tell him to not open-mouth kiss my butt. Which, to me, seems like it should be a no-brainer.
This is going to be the post I delete once the kids start being able to read and learn that I blog about them.
Oh! And I get to meet a whole new group of parents, which is both great and a bit daunting. There will be the regular period of time in which I alienate half the class because I am unable to edit myself. And I tend to be perceived as slightly aggressive, which always cracks me up, but tends to sort of leave me appearing (as time passes, and I try to keep my mouth shut so I don’t inadvertently tell another mother she has a nice rack) cold and standoffish. Which is another perception people have of me. Either way, I’m screwed and destined to be the outsider for at least one month, while they come to terms with the fact that really, I’m totally awesome. And adorable.
I’m totally okay with the fact that the boys are starting school. Not to be insensitive, but I am always a bit baffled when mothers get really freaked out by school starting. Not because they should be as stoked as I am about having free time, I totally understand how that free time could be weird, and a little lonely. What baffles me is that school is sort of to be expected. Like death. Time passes, and kids grow, and they go to school, and then we all die. It’s sort of always been that way. I suppose I just don’t get overwhelmed by things that have always happened. It would shock me if, say, Rowan decided to become a rapper. That would be an adjustment, because . . . well, does that really need an explanation?
Really, I am so excited for me! And let’s face it people, if there is one thing I have learned about myself, it’s that I am very important. I’m excited for me, and I’m excited for the kids because frankly? I may be really awesome, but there is only one person in the world that should be around me all the time, and that’s me. Everyone has a shelf life. So the kids get to go to school, paint shit, dig in dirt, climb shit, learn how to get out from under mean kids, drink from a cup, flirt with girls, open-mouth kiss the teacher’s knee, and, hopefully, not think of me at all. So when, three hours after I drop them off in the morning, I return to pick them up, everyone is happy.
Yep. I’m that mom. But I would be lying if I didn’t say that the entire time I’m away from the kids, my phone will be one centimeter away, just in case they need me. I may be drunk at the bar, or laying on the floor in the living room not watching porn, but I’ll be reachable. And I’ll strain my neck looking over at my phone. And at the twelve o’clock pick up? I’ll be the first mom at the gate.